


We Got Caught In The Storm

by j_gabrielle



Category: Bastille Day (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Possesiveness, Stripper, Undercover, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: Michael knows exactly how he looks. He's seen himself plenty of times in mirror by the bed in the middle of an orgasm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I should be finishing my other fic, but this one happened, so yeah.

Sean is sitting in the corner of the stage. He's on, what, the third scotch of the evening? It makes him smirk as he struts down the stage. Perfect.

He takes to mark each beat with a deliberate gyration of his hips. Touching himself, Michael makes sure he angles himself to catch the lights on the sequins of the pasties he has on. Tugging on the tassles; a tease he knows, he smirks, licking over the bubblegum pink glass on his lips. Michael knows exactly how he looks. He's seen himself plenty of times in mirror by the bed in the middle of an orgasm. 

Michael is only all too aware that he should look ridiculous in his get up of pasties over his nipples, the scrap of fabric that merely cling on to his crotch can barely quantify as a thong, those barely sensible heels he scrounged from one of the girls in the back, and the dark wavy wig they managed to pin onto his scalp five minutes before his turn. Sean is probably having an aneurysm in his shadowed corner, but whatever. The job comes first, isn't that what he always said.

He ignores the twisting ache in his chest, choosing instead to go to his knees. Michael throws his head back, showing off the lines of his body, thrusting out his ass. The men closest to the stage begin to reach out, touching, slapping and slipping money into the band of his thong. Undeterred by the catcalls and the insistent touches, he continues crawling towards their mark. Poor man doesn't know where to put his hands the moment Michael swings his legs over, straddling him.

"Hi." He coos, simulating himself riding the man. Michael can feel his erection rubbing up against him. The poor man stutters before he replies, moving his meaty hands to grip at his hips, eyes wide in the neon lights like he cannot believe Michael is actually flesh and bones and on him. Pushing away the wave of disgust that comes over him at the sight of the mark leering at him, he rallies himself to focus, pulling every fibre in him to smile and lean in. "You want a private show later? Go to the backrooms. Tell the bouncer that Mikey sent you."

"R-really?"

Very aware that Sean's eyes are burning holes into the back of his head, he tilts his head, licking at the shell of the mark's ear. "Really, sugar." He smirks.

Untangling himself from the mark, he climbs back onto the stage, going through the rest of the routine. Blowing a kiss to the crowd, he winks, maintaining eye contact with the mark as he shakes his hips with each step taking him back stage. "If this cop business doesn't work out for you, you should know that you could put us all out of work!" One of the girls crow, eyes bright with astonishment as they descend on him to help. The girl after him, Willam, plants a kiss on his cheek and slaps him on the butt even as she climbs on stage with the beat to her song.

"Yeah, 'm not sure I can deal with the tucking. So, I think your jobs are pretty safe." He laughs, wincing when urge him to part his legs. With quick, efficient and no less pain, they remove the tape. Michael sighs, thanking the girls when Sean's face peeks past the sequined curtains. Michael throws a grin his way as he is using a wet wipe to viciously remove the makeup on his face.  

"They're moving in on him." He says, eyes fixed on him. Michael nods. So they're done for the night then. He carefully picks out his tips from the remains of the thong, handing them over to the girls. 

"Here." He says, climbing into his softest worn track pants.

"It's yours, sugar. You shook your stuff for this!" They laughed, lavishing him with kisses and hugs, already making him promise that he'll be back when all this fuss with their case is over. And Michael knows that he will be. They make him take a small shopping bag he isn't quite sure of the contents. It would seem rude to refuse, so he acquieses with a smile. He bids them goodbye, but not before slipping the money into the funds jar by the door.

Pulling the hood over his head because he distinctly remembered the weather report stating a drizzle tonight, he casts a look at Sean. "You okay? A little quiet there." He laughs, sticking his hands into his pockets. When he doesn't receive a reply, not even a grunt, he turns-

-to find himself being pushed up against the thin plaster wall thumming with the stage music from the front rooms. "Briar?"

Sean's eyes are dark, blown to black in the low light. "Do you know what it was doing to me watching all those men touch you, call for you? Do you know how much I wanted to go over and pull you off him, to pummel him to the ground till his own mother won't even know him from the shit he came from?"

Michael swallows. 'Okay,' He thinks, 'play it safe. Calm him down.'

"Sean?" He whispers, moving his hand to the base of Sean's throat, tracing the line of his neck, his jaw till his palms are cupping his cheeks. "It's over. Job's done. We got the guy, right? C'mon. Let's go home. I want a shower, yeah? Wash myself clean and you can help? It's over now, babe."

He seems to deflate at that. It hits Michael then, how hard it must have been for Sean to see him up there tonight. A gentle warmth of happiness blooms in his chest. "I know." Sean murmurs, folding himself over and around him like the overgrown teddy bear he hides so hard and tries to pretend he isn't. Michael tilts his head, going in for a kiss. It is gentle, unhurried, meant to reassure. It is chaste and Sean responds, sliding his hands to cradle him by his nape. "Let's go home."

Michael nods. Wrapping his arm arround his waist, he sinks into the smell and familiar weight of Sean as they tumble out onto the rainslicked streets.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted so hard for this to get super porny, but. Fluff. Ah well.
> 
> I would recommend listening to American Money by Børns (the AWAY remix, if you seriously want to imagine the beats to Michael's routine).


End file.
